Falls So Hard
by Kyuketsuki1
Summary: An ordinary day for Fox and Collin
1. Prologue

Falls So Hard

By: Kyuketsuki / The Sister

Disclaimer: Boy Meets Boy is the property of Sandra Delete.

Author's Notes: Not much if anything is known about Fox's past, so I took the liberty of creating one. This will most likely clash with what Sandra knows but hasn't shared yet. Sorry.

Warning: Language.

PROLOGUE:

Collin gets hit with the usual wave of cute girls just dying to get into his pants. His asexual pants. Of course, they don't appreciate a gorgeous sexual being when they see one. This is made worse only by the fact that Collin thinks my disappointment is fucking hilarious. He smirks. Okay, so you have to really know him before you can read him, but if anyone on the planet can read him, it's me. That's why the smirking is more annoying than it strictly should be.

The ladies disperse (without so much as a glance in my direction) and the day progresses as normal.

Sadistic Collin has decided that he can go without a blessed cigarette before breakfast, which leaves me torn. Do I stay with my best friend and eat or go outside and take a few delicious lungfuls of smoke? Lucky me, when I pose the question to said best friend, he sees the light and abandons the cafeteria in favor of our old friend Mr. Nicotine.

Call me codependent, but I like taking my morning smoke with someone. It's become a tradition. When I was at home it was mom. Now it's Collin. There hasn't been a huge gaping maw between the two. Shit, maybe I am codependent. Either way, it's nice to have someone to stand out in the cold with while you're getting the first few puffs of the day. And Collin's not a talker like most of the idiots who scramble out to the quad. He's also a damn fine shield to keep those annoying fucks away. It's amazing, really, but people seem to talk to me. Maybe they've seen me chattering away across campus, and think I'm an open ear, but I'm not a very happy person in the morning, which is why my best friend in the whole wide world is a fine companion in the early hours.

I like to look as cool as possible when smoking 'cause...well, who am I kidding? I started smoking to look cool. So I go for the casual yet devastatingly sexy "yeah, I know I'm hot but I don't care" wall lean. It's a classic smoking pose, but I like to think that I add some personal style to it. Collin doesn't care what he looks like. It's early. I'm not saying he's not a morning person, he's just... he's not an anytime person. All those adorable little beauty things he does? Well, they're not for anyone but himself, much to most of the world's chagrin. He's extra bitchy in the morning, though, and I'm not in a good enough mood to point out how naturally cute he is standing there, arms wrapped around himself, fingers just barely shaking as he takes the cigarette from his lips. I'm also not stupid enough to tell him that when he looks like that I get the urge to protect him from the world.

Time always slips by out here. Maybe it's the fact that I'm actually silent and therefore get a chance to just observe without getting asked if I'm about to be violently ill, or maybe all the tar coating my lungs causes oxygen deprivation which makes me black out for long periods of time. Either way, it feels like hours have sped away by the time my cigarette has burned down. I'd ask Collin if he has noticed it, but he's looking a bit impatient and I'm not in the mood to have to explain myself, so I'll make do with following him into the cafeteria to get some breakfast.

Like most college students, I'd give up breakfast in a moment to scrounge a few more minutes of sleep, but if I do that I tend to start feeling queasy about halfway through my morning lecture, so breakfast has become a staple. Lucky for me Collin likes to start his mornings with a few cups of coffee, which basically means he wakes me up and drags me to food in order to keep me from blacking out.

This has become our morning routine. I can't remember when it started to seem normal, and I'm not sure when I got comfortable with that, but sometimes I'm glad it did and I have. Very few things in my life get a routine. I guess it comes from being a military brat. Whatever the reason, if I stop and think about how my life starts to get normal, I start to have fits.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm one messed up little fuck. Sure, my ego can take a beating, but the rest of me can't. Just don't tell anyone else that. If rumors start that I'm fragile I'll have to prove that I'm not, and I don't know if I can handle the strain. I was a sickly kid and am still a bit sickly. You can't tell because I can hold my liquor better than most bottles, but I am prone to passing out when I'm not careful about all that shit the doctor keeps warning me to be careful about. Like the smoking. But asking me to stop smoking is like asking me to knee Collin. I'd rather shoot a puppy than do either. Coincidentally, I've also been told to stay away from firearms, but I don't know if the doctor was telling me that I'd end up shooting myself or just trying to save the world population of puppies. Either way, I'm taking the advice. If I've learned anything over the years, it's that the doctor usually doesn't tell you to do something unless it's pretty damn important that you do it.

I really don't feel like eating. I'd rather just crawl back in bed. Unfortunately Collin is doing his scary little mother-hen look, which means I had better get something. Point to the asexual one. Chances are this is one of those days where I would be better off laying in bed, but that look is frightening on way too many levels for me not to at least attempt food. So I slip into the rather non-existent breakfast line and grab a muffin. A chocolate muffin. The kind of food that you just know is dessert, but since it's parading around as breakfast, you might as well take it at face value and enjoy your morning a bit more than if you hadn't.

Collin doesn't disapprove of my choice. He knows how to take his victories.


	2. Part I

Falls So Hard

By: Kyuketsuki / The Sister

Disclaimer: Boy Meets Boy is the property of Sandra Delete.

Author's Notes: Not much if anything is known about Fox's past, so I took the liberty of creating one. This will most likely clash with what Sandra knows but hasn't shared yet. Sorry.

Warning: Language.

PART I:

It's Friday. I usually love Fridays. They have just the right combination of work and play. But idiot me, when I signed up for classes in the fall, I was drunk and not thinking, which meant that I signed up for what I needed and a few courses that at the time "sounded like fun." I dropped the fun classes as soon as I was sober, but it wasn't soon enough. My schedule is so lop-sided if it were a boat it would be sitting at the bottom of the ocean. In other words, Fridays are now hell.

I get out of my last class of the week at five o'clock. This is like having a full-time job, only worse, because I also have a part-time job at the Book Barn. They all hate me there except for the manager, who I'm pretty sure just wants to jump me. Normally, this is not a bad thing, but I think she held the title of Ugliest Woman Alive at one point, so it's not exactly one of the things that makes my job worthwhile.

I have the glamorous job of stocking shelves tonight. Another reminder that I should have called in sick and just gotten fired. Too bad for me I'm the only person on the planet who doesn't own a damn cell phone and therefore didn't get the chance. Also too bad that I need the money. Having a drug problem is all good and well until you realize that it costs money to feed that drug habit. It takes a lot to make me work, but the promise of alcohol is on the top of that list.

Jennifer, the perky blonde who says nasty things about me behind my back, tells me to get right to work and hands me a basket of books. As tedious as this job is, the only skill you need is a working knowledge of the alphabet, so at least I can sit back and enjoy the tedium with minimum stress.

I start shelving Stephen King books and immediately have to rearrange the entire section. If there were any customers nearby I would tell them that it's really a lot less trouble if they place the books on one of the many tables provided than try to put them back in order, because they never seem to be able to do it right. Bully for the customers, they're steering clear of me. I'll save the rant for another night.

As soon as Horror is in order I move on, more proud than I probably should be. Maybe I'll head over to the Self-Help section later and pick up a book about having realistic goals and an ego that doesn't threaten to eat your neighbors alive. Or maybe not. As far as I'm concerned, if you have the sense to realize something is wrong with you, you can't really need all that much help, can you? I mean, at least you're not in denial. So all those people who hover nervously in Travel and steal glances at the Self-Help titles must either be wondering if they're deficient or considering buying a really bad birthday gift.

The basket is half-empty when I'm interrupted.

"Excuse me sir, could you point me toward the Egotistical Best Friend section?"

I'd know that inadvertently sexy voice anywhere.

"Yeah, it's right between Denial and the Ever-Dwindling List of Reasons Why I Won't Fuck My Devastatingly Sexy Roommate."

"What an odd place for it."

I pull a stupid face and hope he can't see it from wherever the hell it is he's standing. No such luck.

He chuckles. "Reason number 374."

Okay, so he may be mean, but he's also damn funny when you ignore the fact that he's insulting you. I grin, assuming he'll see that as well, and stop my work as soon as my hands are empty. Instead of getting up, I do a completely ungraceful turn without raising my ass off the carpet and face him. He doesn't care how stupid I look.

"I assume you're getting the Egotistical Best Friend book for someone you met in class, since it couldn't possibly be for you."

He shrugs and sips his coffee. "Just seems like a helpful thing to have lying around."

It's too good to resist. "Coincidentally, so is an egotistical best friend."

"They certainly won't do anything else." You have to hand it to the guy, he doesn't miss a beat. And that's reason number twelve why he should fuck his devastatingly sexy roommate.

"Enough of this gay banter. What the hell do you want?"

He shrugs again. "I came for the coffee. You being here is a complete fluke."

"I'm hurt, Collin."

Another shrug, though he pushes away from the shelf he's leaning on for this one, which means that I inadvertently hit a nerve. I'm getting better and better at that.

"When do you get off," he asks as soon as he's regained whatever composure he thinks he's lost.

"As soon as you finally let me."

He scowls. My my, he's touchy this evening. "Sorry, Fox, I'm not going to let you hump my leg."

Okay, that one hurt. I protest/hide by going back to shelving, and only have to wait a moment before he sighs. Music to my ears.

"So do you close tonight or not?"

"I'd stay open until the end of the world for you, _baby_." There's just enough lilt in my voice for him not to lean over and hit me. I'm grateful. Though sometimes with Collin you take what physical contact you can get and run with it.

"I'll assume that means you don't want to go to the club with me tonight."

Stop. Back up. Did he say club?

"Whoa. When did I say that? I didn't even imply that."

He smirks. "Then I'll ask again: When do you get off?"


End file.
